Theatre in Review: The Rocky Horror Show (Roundabout Theatre Company/Studio 54)

	Juliette Lewis, Andrew Durand, Stephanie Hsu, Amber Gray. Photo: Joan Marcus

I first saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show in a Rhode Island cinema in 1978. If, as I pelted with slices of toast and rolls of toilet paper, someone had said that, fifty years hence, I would be attending the second major Broadway revival of the original stage version, I would have cordially invited them to pull the other one. And yet here we are; this property has legs, although, for the life of me, I can't tell you why. Then again, the woman of uncertain years seated in front of me at Studio 54 rocked in her seat, shouted after her favorite lines, and, at times, raised a hand in the air as if suddenly possessed by the Holy Spirit. The fan club is now in session, and the faithful are ready to rock out.

This is The Rocky Horror Show as you probably remember it, a kooky, bizarre-for-its-era monster mash packed with insanely catchy pop hooks, nonsensical lyrics, and a plot that defies description, all served up in glam rock drag. But, if fate decrees that we must do the Time Warp again, at least we have Sam Pinkleton's staging with its wittily off-kilter casting choices for the weird henchpersons and wide-eyed interlopers entangled in the sinister doings over at the Frankenstein place.

For example: The words "Juliette Lewis" and "musical theatre" may seem the unlikeliest of pairings, but there she is, dressed up like an usherette of yore, belting the opening number "Science Fiction/Double Feature," which pays tribute to scream queens like Fay Wray, Anne Francis, and Janette Scott, and film titles like Tarantula, When Worlds Collide, and The Day the Earth Stood Still. (Arguably the show's best number, it lets us know what we're in for.) Yes, Lewis has a rock band, but still: Growling her numbers with glee and striking various whacked-out poses, she is possibly the production's biggest surprise.

But she's not the only one. The musical's narrator, typically played by an august older man, here goes to Rachel Dratch, clad in slacks and smoking jacket, a spit curl daintily affixed to her right temple, rolls out her full repertory of portentous pauses and pop-eyed stares, pulling laughs out of the thin air. An unrecognizable Amber Gray gives a seemingly nonbinary spin to Riff Raff, here transformed into a monstrous Igor-like figure, her toothy expressions topped by blonde dreadlocks. Also wildly altered is Michaela Jae Rodriguez as Colombia, buried under layers of makeup, drawn eyebrows like arches, her face framed in scarlet marcel waves, cackling her lines in a voice like nothing you've ever heard. (The imaginations of costume designer David I. Reynoso and hair and wig designer Alberto "Albee" Alverado have been allowed to run amok, with fertile results.)

Presiding over this (possibly) human zoo is Luke Evans as Frank-N-Furter, the transvestite mad scientist whose attempts at engineering Rocky, a sexy boy toy, drive what passes for a plot. The only performer one can think of whose resume includes the West End productions of Rent and Avenue Q and several Fast and Furious films, among other hard-boiled action epics, his muscular frame is poured into a bodice and patterned pantyhose, allowing him to camp it up furiously and have his seductive way with several members of the supporting cast. It's hard to think of any actor having a better time on Broadway just now.

If the Broadway musical veterans Andrew Durand and Stephanie Hsu are exactly what you'd expect in the roles of the born-to-be-ravished innocents Brad and Janet, they are certainly enthusiastic participants in these depraved activities. Harvey Guillen (a new face to me, since I've never seen his FX series What We Do in the Shadows), makes only a fleeting impression in the dual role of Eddie, who gets carved up with a buzzsaw, and Dr. Scott, who exposes Frank-N-Furter's true identity, but consider his material, which includes "Hot Patootie/Bless My Soul," arguably the most nonsensical number in the musical theatre canon. At the performance I attended, Josh Rivera, who plays Rocky, was out; his understudy, Boy Radio, fits the character's dimensions, if you know what I mean.

Also: The scenic collective dots scatters green rope light everywhere, plants tiny light-up castles in the strangest places, and supplies a great hall that recalls one of Roger Corman's Edgar Allen Poe thrillers, complete with a towering staircase and innumerable candelabra. The designs for Frank's lab, especially his "sonic transporter," have more of an Ed Wood vibe, which is all right, too. (At one point, Frank is seen curled up in a hanging crescent moon, rather like Auntie Mame in her disastrous stage debut or, more to the point, the coke-sniffing Man in the Moon, a scenic feature of Studio 54 in its bad old disco days.) Lighting designer Jane Cox delivers lighting bolts, saturated color washes, watery patterns, and cues kinetically tied to the songs. Brian Ronan's sound design is overwhelmingly loud yet almost entirely clear, which is no small feat; he also supplies a full complement of horror-movie effects: thunder, creaking doors, etc.

All of this is by way of saying that if you are a dyed-in-the-wool Rocky Horror fan, you will probably have the time of your life. If you prefer your musicals to make sense, you should look elsewhere. It probably takes cooler heads to notice that one or two raunchy jokes aside, this once-provocative entertainment now packs all the shock value of Bye Bye Birdie. Indeed, it comes across as only slightly naughtier than Cats: The Jellicle Ball, which, as far as I can tell, is being pitched to the family trade. Overall, Rocky Horror's appeal is one of nostalgia, aimed at those yearning for the entertainments of a half-century ago, rather like the charm that 1925's No, No, Nanette held for audiences in 1971.

In any case, the property is so well known that there's little chance of anyone ending up at The Rocky Horror Show by mistake. And if you're yearning to immerse yourself in "Sweet Transvestite," "Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch Me," and "I Can Make You a Man," you know what to do. Who cares if you're stuck in a time warp? --David Barbour